Harley's Thanksgiving
by Galbinus-Rayquaza
Summary: [oneshot] Does Harley have anything to be thankful for? [implied Contestshipping]


**Harley's Thanksgiving**

**Pairings: **Implied Contestshipping  
**Genre: **Friendship/Comfort  
**Characters: **Harley, his Pokemon; May; Drew; and Dawn  
**Beta'd by: **Arc Knight  
**Dedicated to: **Lolita of the Damned, because of her wonderful fic 'See You On The Other Side'  
**Thanks to: **Arc Knight for beta'ing this oneshot  
**Warnings: **Too long. Too sappy-ish. Drew may act a little OOC. And. . . um. . . not for complete Drew fans.

**Harley's Thanksgiving  
**by Galbinus-Rayquaza

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**Does Harley have anything to be thankful for?**

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**+ PERCHED ATOP THE **chair, Harley Davidson absentmindedly ran his scarlet-painted fingernails through his long, wavy amethyst hair.

His dark emerald gaze flicked across the myriad of multi-colored buildings, and he imagined himself wandering down the various alleyways that he knew so well, and had fully traversed as a child. The streets were well-deserted, and as the golden sun began its luxuriously slow descent down the sky, it cast a vivid crimson across the celestial landscape.

Harley glanced at his watch, which read 4:30. A crisp autumn breeze blew past him, flinging his hair all across his tan face and irritating his long eyelashes. Blinking several times, Harley pushed his hair out of his face and tipped his triangular green cloth hat to obscure the sunlight that was streaming into his sensitive eyes.

"It's that time of the year again," Harley murmured to himself, under his breath. Oh. . . great. It was Thanksgiving.

Sighing loudly, he turned his back on the sunset and ambled back into his seventh-story apartment, scanning his tidy living room. Not a single photograph—which all depicted various photos of his Cacturne and his other Pokemon—was out of place; nor were the pink cushions on his cream-colored sofas out of align. But why did something feel so wrong?

He let out another long sigh, and swept over to his coat rack, somewhat irritably plucking out a copy of his collared green jacket. Thrusting it on over his dark turquoise T-shirt, Harley grabbed his Pokeball belt from the rack as well and strapped it around his lean waist, repositioning it several times so that it felt 'just' right. With professional speed, he rearranged the order of his Pokemon's Pokeballs so that he could easily send out his newly captured flying-type Pokemon to carry him around the place.

"Well, I ought to go take a walk now," Harley said to himself—monologue was a new habit he had come across over his years as a solitary Coordinator. It was a lonely life, but it was his life. He wasn't entirely sure what it was that repelled others from him; perhaps it was his inability to look over other people's bad attributes? He had yet to find the perfect person, in any case.

Trotting to the elevator, he pressed the down button, and stood, shivering slightly, as he waited for it to ascend to his floor. After half a minute, the gray steel elevator doors slid open with an energetic 'ding', and Harley strode inside the small square room, pressing the first floor's button and waiting for the elevator to slide back down to the first floor. . . it seemed like waiting was all Harley seemed to be doing anymore, and he was getting pretty damn tired of it. Only the monologues kept him company, and he didn't like the thought of that. Shrugging, Harley exited through the elevator doors, and proceeded for the steps that led out of the dingy first floor. The musty tang of his apartment building was rapidly replaced by the chilly late-November afternoon air, and it filled Harley's lungs, intoxicating him and sending shivers all through his spine. Maybe it was worth coming all the way out here just to breath in the fresh air.

Harley began to saunter his usual saunter down the cobblestone street, rounding a bend and coming into the full view of the crowd. There were not a lot of people, but for such an important holiday, there were quite a few—it was also rather astonishing how they managed to congregate so quickly in the matter of minutes that Harley had taken when he was coming down the stairs.

Upon second examination, Harley had noticed that the members of which the ever-growing crowd were mainly well-dressed teenagers and other young youth—in fact, it almost seemed as if they were all. . . Coordinators. Then, upon third examination, Harley noted that they were indeed all Coordinators, which he could tell by the various Pokebelts that they tied around their waists and the Pokeballs that they clutched in their hands. However, they were probably not Trainers, since usually Trainers did not spend so much time polishing up their own appearances, but these people clearly had.

The air was abuzz with a quiet chatter, the sort that appears right before a celebrity would appear onstage. Harley thought it was all very strange, because personally, he wasn't aware that a famous person was visiting Slateport at this time of the year. Sure, Elite Four member Sidney occasionally came every few years to give (although it sounded oddly juvenile for such a good Pokemon Trainer) rock concerts and tips for aspiring Pokemon Trainers. He recalled attending one of these conventions when he was younger and not yet a Coordinator. But now. . . on Thanksgiving? Harley shook his head in puzzlement but continued his walk nonetheless. . . If one could call his 'flamboyant swinging of hips from side-to-side' walking. People stopped in their conversations to ogle Harley with unhinged mouths, though he personally couldn't fathom why they were all doing so, but it happened so much to him that he had grown use the excessive attention; a little addicted to it, even, which partially explained his efforts to re-attract the attention of others if he lost it to someone else. May, for example.

His insides boiled in fury as he thought of the annoying brunette. What made it worse was that he had yet to humiliate her—well, that was not entirely true. He had defeated her once, though he had to admit that, although the specifics were lost to him from the nine, ten years that the Contest battle had passed, he must have used some underhanded method or other to defeat her. What he longed for, desired above all, was to _really _crush her; to make her grovel in self-pity as he basked in her embarrassment.

Well, speak of the devil. Not two seconds since Harley had thought those words did the crowd suddenly erupted in excited cheers and catcalls. Blinking as he reeled back from the sudden change of anticipation to exhilaration in the spirit of the people around him, Harley quickly pinpointed the center of attention—okay, thathe was really good at—and discovered very distastefully that May was standing there.

Though she was at least in her early twenties (Harley had, oddly enough given his unnatural obsession with her, forgotten to ask for her age, but he reckoned that he must have been too busy plotting some scheme or other at the time), May's childish, perky facial features made her look not a day older than fifteen. Over the six month period that she and Harley had not met—owing to the fact that she had already collected the necessary five badges for her second Hoenn Grand Festival, and he had not—the girl had grown her hair longer.

Instead of having her hair flail up by her shoulders, May had swapped her archaic hairstyle for a much more—Harley had to admit—fashionable layered hairstyle. Evidently, she had dyed her hair as well, for streaks of blond ran through her mass of now multi shades of brown hair. Her body had matured somewhat, as well—though rather curvy at the least, May's hips and chest were now well worthy of a model, though the purple-haired Coordinator thought that her 'new' appendages merely added to her repulsiveness. Harley had to wonder, though, who it was that convinced May to cut her hair so. Knowing May, she probably did not do it of her own accord.

That particular question was answered, almost as immediately as May's arrival—which Harley noticed was from a large ship that was now leaving Slateport Harbor—by the sudden appearance of a certain green-haired Coordinator that Harley knew all too well. Drew had, with supersonic speed, seemingly materialized out of thin air by May's side, which was slightly uncharacteristic of the suave Coordinator. Why he did so, however, became apparent as he linked arms with May, and she giggled at his possessive gestures.

_Oh. . . great. . . so now they're a couple, _Harley thought to himself sulkily as some people around him exploded in shrieks of delight and some other people—fangirls (and some fanboys) of Drew, no doubt, who were angry that he was dating May—howled in agony, fainted, and had to promptly be escorted away by their friends. In no less than two minutes, two ambulances were surrounding the huge audience, which filled every street of Slateport as far as Harley could see—and he could see quite far, owing to his impressive height—but nobody seemed to care (except perhaps those unfortunates being carted off to the hospital.)

Drew flipped his silky grass-green bangs, coaxing all-too-eager screams out of the mouths of many, many females. Harley wondered what it was that everyone thought so appealing in Drew. By the purple-haired Coordinator's standards, Drew was far too short—he was barely an inch taller than May, which is not a great accomplishment—and too self-obsessed.

"Oh, Latios, what do people _see _in him?" Harley sneered to himself as Drew, conjuring a sanguine rose from his long sleeve—he was dressed in a tuxedo—and, plucking a single petal from the flower, tossed it into the crowd, which, the part that was nearest to Drew anyway, instantaneously exploded in a fierce jostle as people fought each other for the coveted prize of the flower part. Harley sneered to himself again, "It's just a stupid flower. Heck, it's not even a whole flower."

At last, a teenaged blue-haired girl finally caught the petal. She screamed in delight, "OH MY ARCEUS! I CAUGHT IT! I CAUGHT DREW ROSALIND'S FLOWER!" and nearly tore off her white beanie in her excitement. Girls around her eyed her with envy and grumbled to themselves while Harley tried to tame the irate feelings bubbling in the pit of his stomach.

The green-haired Coordinator smiled flippantly at the girl, who swooned and almost collapsed to the floor, and had to be rescued by her companion, a fervent boyish male adolescent with auburn hair and unusual bangs that swept from the top-left corner of his wide forehead to the bottom of his right ear. But that was all Harley saw of the two for a while, as he now turned his attention back to the 'stage', or more correctly, small clearing in the center of the crowd—the spectacle of notice—that harbored Drew and May.

The volume of the crowd crescendoed accordingly as Drew handed the rest of the dew-covered rose to May, who blushed a red reminiscent of the color of her signature bandana that she now reserved purely for battles and the rose itself.

At this moment, Harley was unable to stand the unbelievable idiocy of the crowd. So the two were together. So what?! Before he could restrain himself, the purple-haired Coordinator burst out furiously, raising his voice over the discordant babble of the crowd, "So what if you two are married! It's not like it's something really important or anything! Pfft! You're just two remarkably untalented Coordinators who were attracted to one another!"

Harley had never before witnessed such a monstrous crowd quiet so swiftly.

He almost regretted his decision as Drew, who had previously been whispering something in May's right ear, turned slowly to face Harley. The green-haired Coordinator's jade eyes flashed with silent fury as he swept his gaze patronizingly over Harley's defiant glare, which only fueled the purple-haired Coordinator's dislike and righteousness.

"What brings you here, Harley?" Drew asked in a leveled tone, forcing calmness into his voice, though from the clenching and shaking of his fists, any idiot could tell that he was furious. . . even May.

Harley, as usual, was undeterred by Drew's bad mood. "Oh, maybe half of Slateport practically burstingout of their homes on _Thanksgiving. _Hmmph! I definitely would not have come out here just to watch you two twerps—just—stand there and throw flower parts into the crowd."

Drew's left eye twitched ever so slightly. May gulped and, shooting a fearful glance at Harley, attempted to calm Drew by stroking his right arm, but he only irritably shoved off her hand. "Don't insult May," the green-haired Coordinator hissed, venom lacing each word, save for the last, which he spoke as if he were uttering the name of a goddess.

Personally, Harley was very surprised to see that Drew was now acting so caring of May. Then again, the purple-haired Coordinator rationalized, he had always suspected that Drew had a 'thing' for May—Harley could tell that all those roses he had given to May's 'Pokemon' were not actually for her Pokemon, in any case. Harley hadn't been, needless to say, altogether shocked that the two were now a 'thing', though he was rather surprised that so many people seemed interested in May and Drew's romance.

"Make me," Harley shot back with equal vigor. In fact, Drew telling him not to insult May just made him want to do so. "If I said a word of praise in front of May, well, that would be downright lying! She only got into all those Grand Festivals because everybody around her _helped _her, out of pity for her, and—"

Harley couldn't get any further, for Drew had leapt into the crowd, tearing his way to Harley, a mad sort of fire burning in his green eyes. Harley, a little concerned for his own well-being, began backing away, his hand reaching for his Wigglytuff's Pokeball, but before he could manage even such a simple maneuver, Drew had pounced on him, knocking Harley over.

Landing with a dull 'thud' on the stone sidewalk, the purple-haired Coordinator saw stars. Pain blossomed at the tip of Harley's spine, surging upwards and contaminating the whole of his body with the abstract poison. Drew, meanwhile, had taken to furiously kicking and scratching and pounding and punching at Harley, while Harley, absolutely at a loss for words and actions, could only lie on the ground, obediently allowing Drew to beat him up.

Harley's nose spewed blood as Drew pummeled a bare fist into Harley's face, and yet the purple-haired Coordinator remained absolutely immobile, a stone statue readily being smashed to pieces by an antagonized other wielding a diamond hatchet. Harley thought he could hear May shrieking in the background for Drew to stop, that she forgave Harley and that Drew should do the same, and yet—

"Get _off _of him, you big meanie!"

Strong hands tugged Drew off of Harley, and the purple-haired Coordinator distinctly heard a crash that was undoubtedly the green-haired Coordinator being hurled away by whoever had rescued Harley. Blinking, he stood up and looked around for his savior, intent on locating him or her before the sores that were placed all over his body could work to their full potential.

To Harley's surprise, it was the same blue-haired girl who had caught the rose petal that had pulled Drew off of him.

Blinking again to assure himself that yes, it _was _one of Drew's fangirls who had rescued him, Harley swayed with the slightest breeze as he struggled towards the girl, intent on thanking her, then realized that that would be rather uncharacteristic of him. Using disorientation as his excuse, Harley stopped in his walk to the blue-haired girl and stood still, watching silently as she took out Drew's rose petal, let it fall to the ground, and promptly gnashed it with the heel of her left pink boot.

It was then that Harley faintly heard the distinctive sound of a Pokeball being opened.

And it was much more clearly that he felt the tiny projectiles that buried themselves in his back.

Yelping, Harley turned around to see that Drew had sent out his Roselia and was ordering the grass-typed Pokemon to attack Harley with a long-ranged attack of some sort. The blue-haired girl made an angry movement towards Drew—and it was then that Harley realized how silent the crowd had grown—but before she could do anything, or anyone could do anything, for that matter, Harley's entire arsenal of Pokemon had exploded out of their Pokeballs, growls trapped in all of their throats as they stared at Roselia.

Harley's gaze swept over the heads of all his Pokemon, and gradually, salty tears formed in the corners of his eyes. His Cacturne, who perhaps understood him the best, swiveled her—for the Cacturne was a her—head around to solicitously eyeball her Coordinator, as if to ask Harley how he was doing. Too choked up to reply with even the simplest of gestures, Harley could only watch as his Octillery fired a rapid series of ink blots at Drew and his Roselia, and he could only watch as the Coordinator and his grass-typed Pokemon were covered in the dark liquid.

He could only watch as his Wigglytuff thrust her pink head backwards and unleashed a blob of sizzling, shadowy black at the Roselia, blasting the Rose Pokemon backwards a good ten feet.

He could only watch as his Banette, seeming to swell up with rage, unzipped his mouth to crack a leer at the Roselia. He could only watch as the ghost-typed Pokemon pressed his two gray arms together, forming a sphere of neon-yellow electricity and flinging it towards the crimson sky, and he could only watch as jagged shards of electricity crashed down from the heavens onto Drew's Roselia.

He could only watch as his Cacturne, his Cacturne, charged towards the battered Roselia—who, despite being hit by an onslaught of various attacks, was still conscious—and raised one vine-green arm, which was spinning about in a windmill-like fashion. He could only watch as his Cacturne hit the Roselia with an impeccable 'Needle Arm' attack and sent the Rose Pokemon flying.

Harley watched as Drew, his face stricken, returned his Roselia, and despite the fact that he had taken a severe beating from Harley's Pokemon, still looked at Harley hatefully and without shame of any sort, as if—as if Harley were responsible for the entire fiasco. And perhaps Harley was—but he was unable to comprehend all of this. He was far too busy staring down incredulously at his Pokemon, who had bunched protectively at his feet.

"What do you have to be thankful for, huh, Harley?" Came Drew's voice, as if from very far away. Drew might have said something else, but Harley didn't hear, as the crowd suddenly and simultaneously picked up its audible buzz. The blue-haired girl might have patted Harley on the back as she passed with the auburn-haired boy, and she might have not.

But Harley knew the answer already. And he was very thankful.

**A/N:**

**Um. . . I hope that changed your perspective of Harley. I mean, he is sort of portrayed as the bad guy in the anime and all, but I'm sure that he's just misunderstood. As is Voldemort.**

**Anyway. All I can say for myself is that I've never really liked Drew's Roselia. Heheh. Thank you Arc Knight, again!**

**If you've actually come this far, please, take it to dropping a review, because I sort of worked very hard on this oneshot, however bad it may be.**

**Oh, and by the way,**

**Happy Thanksgiving!**


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